The Family Holmes: Sherringford Manor
by wen-parmadol
Summary: Shortly after Sherlock returns after the events of the Reichenbach fall, he and John are 'kidnapped', though not by Mycroft's doing. Who is it, and why is Sherlock so reluctant to go?
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One: Teddy

A/N: Hey guys! Here is the next installment of The Family Holmes. This one is chaptered, and meant to explore Sherlock's past. A guest made a guess as to who the family consisted of, and got two out of three right. I couldn't tell if they were disappointed or not; I hope it isn't too unoriginal. Maybe they will like my twist on it? In any case, here is the first chapter. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or BBC Sherlock, or anything else that is recognizable. The world would be sorry if I did.

Sherlock watched John nervously as they walked to Tesco's. The army man was tense and hunched, protecting his neck from the wind, and studiously not looking at the detective. Sherlock couldn't blame him, though he desperately wished he could. John wasn't the one just returned from the dead, after all.

It had been a few weeks since that day, and things were strange in 221b Baker Street. John was alternately angry and affectionate. Sherlock for his part was ill at ease when forced to leave John's presence; it had been a hard three years without his blogger. John would sometimes indulge him, letting the taller man cuddle up to him of all things, while other times pushing him away in frustration. He wasn't the one to jump of a building to play dead.

Then there was Mary, and Sherlock had to hold back a growl. Mary Morstan: small, friendly, and perfectly dull. The detective could not see what was so special about the woman, other than being filthy rich, and John wasn't the type to care about that kind of thing. No, she must have drugged him, maybe with a love potion. Mummy would know about those, maybe he should ask him. Oh, and tell him that his darling boy was alive. No, Mycroft probably already did. Back to Mary: yes, she was truly fiendish. She didn't even react properly at all his subtle attempts to get rid of her. She just smiled at him like he was _cute _and it only made John even angrier.

"What is your brother up to now?" John asked, and Sherlock followed his gaze to the black sedan. One of Mycroft's, then. "Usually when he kidnaps me, it's alone."

"Who knows? Ignore it." John frowned at him, folding his arms across his chest.

"What? You don't like Mycroft, either." John continued to glare, before sighing and nodding and they both continued on their way.

"I don't think I could put up with another Holmes today." Sherlock frowned, grabbing John's hand. The shorter man raised an eyebrow, but squeezed the violinist fingers comfortingly.

"Lock, you better get in this car." Sherlock froze, turning around slowly. John did the same, observing the man who caused such a reaction curiously. He was tall, taller than Sherlock, with a mess of blue hair. It was quite the contrast with his professional looking shirt and trousers.

"Teddy, what are you doing here?" The man in questioned gestured to the car, looking at them expectantly until they complied.

"You are in some deep trouble, mate. Guess who just found out you're alive?"

"Mummy." Sherlock frowned out the window as they moved away from the curb. "I don't have time to leave London right now, Teddy."

"Well, you don't have much choice, do you?" Teddy turned to offer his hand to John, who shook it. "I'm Teddy, if you couldn't tell. I'm this idiot's older brother."

"John Watson, his flatmate. Excuse me, did you say older brother? There are more of you?"

"You wouldn't believe the number of times I hear that," Teddy joked. "Sherlock, have you really told him nothing about us? Mycroft said you two were close."

"We are. He never asked." Teddy rolled his eyes, facing John again.

"Merlin, how do you live with this guy? Anyways, I am bringing you two home to Mummy. Mycroft will probably be by later, with your things for the week. Think of it as vacation, only don't because Siger is going to be home, too. He's our youngest brother. Put him and Sherlock together and you get a house blown up."

"Are there more of you?" John asked, laughing nervously.

"Nah, that's it for the Holmes brothers. Dad is going to be home late tonight though, Lock. Try not to distress Mummy. And tomorrow, the Weasleys are coming for dinner."

"Which ones?"

"All of them." Teddy laughed at Sherlock's wide eyes, his hair turning red. John blinked.

"Did that just-? No, it couldn't have—"

"Merlin's beard, what do you two talk about?"

"The world doesn't revolve around magic, Theodore. Do close your mouth, John. His hair does that, you'll get used to it."

Teddy whistled lowly. "You're sure going to be in for a surprise, John. Sorry I didn't warn you, but I figured Lock told you about _something_ of his growing up. It's better this way though, I guess. It won't be quite so surprising when we get home."

"There is such thing as the Statute of Secrecy," Sherlock muttered darkly.

"Yeah well, who's really going to bother us? Plus, Mycroft says John might as well be family."

"He said that?" John was quite pleasantly surprised.

"Yeah, he's quite fond of you."

"John's better than family," Sherlock muttered, grabbing John's hand again. Teddy ignored him.

It was about an hour drive to Sherringford Manor, and Teddy spent it questioning him on "muggle" things, whatever that meant. He also tried to warn him on what to expect. Talking portraits, something called a house elf, and not to get Mummy angry. Despite the weirdness of the conversation, John found himself liking Teddy. He was a lot more likeable than the Holmes he was used to, and when he mentioned that, Teddy laughed and said he was adopted.

When they finally pulled up, John had to hold back a gasp. He knew Sherlock came from money, of course, but it was different seeing it in person. The house was huge; three stories, most likely longer than their block, and with a long sprawling garden complete with it's own pond. John couldn't imagine growing up here.

"Sherringford Manor, home of the Holmes for generations," Teddy introduced as they stepped out of the car. "Our father gave it to Mummy as a wedding present. Thank goodness, too. He and I were living in Grimmauld Place at that time. I don't remember much, I was pretty young, but just thinking of the name gives me the creeps. Mummy was never happy there, and was eager to leave."

"I didn't know about Grimmauld Place," Sherlock commented as he led John inside. "I don't think that was in the list of Potter properties."

"Nah, Mummy got it from his godfather, Sirius Black. What do you know about the Potter properties?"

"Well, I had to stay somewhere on the run. Mycroft made sure Mummy never noticed."

"Hang on," John interrupted. He had been silently following the conversation on their walk to what appeared to be a sitting room. He was more interested in the high ceilings and classy yet inviting furniture. "I know that name. Sirius Black…wasn't he a serial killer, or a bomber or something?"

"That's what the record says, yes. Responsible for the murder of thirteen muggles," Teddy answered without batting an eyelash.

"Best not to mention it," Sherlock intoned. John sank down into the closest available chair. The brothers continued to talk, exploring the room like they have never been in it before. All their eyes snapped to glass French doors John hadn't noticed led to outside as they banged open.

John was not prepared for the storm in those sea-green eyes.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two: Mummy

A/N: Wow, go off in the woods for three days and you're booming with emails when you get back. Thanks so much! Here is chapter two. Good news: I have just the conclusion left to write for this one, and I am also almost done with the next installment. The plan for the next one is also in the works. Bad news:…um…oh yes, I am alternating between camping and hostels at the moment, so I don't have a set schedule for updates. Enjoy anyways!

Disclaimer: I wish I owned Harry Potter and Sherlock, but alas, it is not to be. Woe is me.

A short man entered, storm clouds in his bespectacled green eyes to match the weather outside. He had a wild mess of black hair, and though he was rather skinny, there was no mistaking the power in his limbs as he stalked closer to the group. Sherlock stepped behind John's chair.

"Mummy," he smiled and John choked on air. "This is my closest friend, John Watson. He's a doctor, Mummy." He pounded his flatmate's back to help him clear his airway.

"Sherlock Avery Holmes, I swear to Morgana I will not hesitate to take you over my knee, friend present or not. Just what in Merlin's name did you think you were doing?"

"Coming to see my lovely mother?" Sherlock tittered—actually tittered! —before approaching his stern mother. It was rather comical, him trying to appease a force of nature that hardly reached his the top of his chest.

"Your fake charm doesn't work on me, you moron. When were you going to tell me you were alive? What gave you the stupid idea to even pretend to be dead! Without telling your mother, who raised your miserable arse! Let me tell you, Sherlock Holmes, you've put me through a lot in your life, but this is by far the worst. And how did I find out you were alive? In the bloody newspaper! The newspaper!"

Sherlock cringed. "Now Mummy, I thought Mycroft would have told you—"

"Don't even start with Mycroft! He's in more than enough trouble without you adding to it. What possessed you two to make such a bloody scheme in the first place is beyond me."

"We wanted to protect you, Mummy," Sherlock murmured engulfing his mother in his arms and kissing his forehead. The short man continued to glare, but softened.

"Protect me, my arse. I took down a dark lord, for Merlin's sake." He pulled down his son to place a kiss on his cheek, running a hand through his hair. John could see where Sherlock got his mass of hair, though his was curlier than his…mother's. The man in question turned to look at him, and John sunk a little in his seat. "Sherlock, introduce me to your friend."

"This is John, Mummy. He's my blogger and he's a doctor. He was in the army, too, and received a badge of honor for bravery in the face of extreme adversity," Sherlock bragged with a smirk, making John blush, and his mother smile. "John, this is my mother, Harry Potter-Holmes."

"Nice to meet you ma'am, err…sir,"

"It's fine, John," Harry laughed. "You can call me Harry. I know it's rather confusing. I went by both titles when the boys were little, and it was easier to let the muggles assume I was a woman when I was pregnant. Would you like some water? You seem to have an awful cough. Maybe some tea?"

"Tea please," John wheezed. Sherlock was rubbing his back again, and the Holmes were all looking at him with concern. "Are you saying you actually gave birth to Sherlock? You didn't just, I don't know, surrogate?"

"I gave birth to all my boys, save Teddy," Harry answered, sitting across from him on a plush couch. Teddy sprawled across it, laying his head in his mother's lap and smirking in triumph at his brother as his hair was pet. Sherlock stuck out his tongue. "Didn't Sherlock tell you?"

"No, he did not tell me," John barked swiping away the man in question. Sherlock curled up in an armchair, pouting. "He apparently left quite a bit of his life out of our conversations."

"Whatever did you talk about?" Harry looked puzzled, before shaking his head. "No matter. Wigby!"

The ex army doctor jumped as a pop sounded and out of nowhere sprang a tiny…thing. It was no taller than his knees, and seems to have a ginormous head with big bat like ears. Was he wearing a pillowcase?

"Wigby, could you bring some tea and biscuits for our guest?" Harry asked, nonplussed. This was a bit to take in for John.

"Yes, Master Harry, Wigby be getting tea for Master Sherlock's friend." John startled once again as the weird creature snapped his fingers and a tea tray appeared, floating to rest on the coffee table. Another snap and tea was pored into a delicate china cup, which floated over to John on a saucer. He grabbed it cautiously, sipping like he expected it to be poisoned. He was lucky he didn't spill any in his lap when the thing popped away again when Harry thanked him.

"What exactly was that thing?"

"Oh, that was the house elf I was telling you about," Teddy informed him, grabbing a biscuit and settling back down in his mother's lap. "I guess they must be creepy if you've never seen one before."

"It was for me," Harry smiled comfortingly. "You get used to it, I promise. Now Teddy, you were telling me about your new project at work earlier. How is it going?"

The Holmes started to converse, which the doctor was grateful for. He needed time to acclimate to all the new information he learned today, and the others were content to let him be. Teddy and Sherlock seemed to be in a competition to impress their mother most, and Sherlock was trying to worm his way onto the poor man. It would have been rather comical considering the massive size difference if John wasn't so shell shocked. Harry sure seemed to find it amusing, and couldn't quite keep his stern face.

It was an hour later when Mycroft appeared with another man. If John thought Sherlock looked like his mother, it was nothing compared to this guy. He was slightly shorter than Sherlock, but impossibly thinner, and his hair seemed to stick up all over the place like Harry's did, instead of the curls Sherlock had. He wore glasses as well, though more modern, and had the same stormy green eyes as his brothers and mother. John noticed he dressed like those young men who liked to dress like grandpas and more relaxed than either Mycroft or Sherlock. Without further ado he pushed the detective off the couch and took his place with a smile. Harry petted his hair affectionately while Sherlock pouted on the ground. Despite his ire he didn't move. Mycroft raised an eyebrow at Teddy, who rolled his eyes and sat up to make room.

"Mummy, I made you a gift, with help from Teddy," the youngest man said, holding up a phone. "It should hold up even when you're angry, though I haven't been able to test it."

"Hold on, you made a phone?" John asked, and the man raised an eyebrow at him.

"Of course. It isn't hard. Who are you?"

"Oh, of course not," John muttered before raising his voice. "I'm John Watson."

"Ah, the boyfriend. I'm Siger, by the way." The man was smiling despite the doctor's sputtering.

"He's not gay," Sherlock said, though the way he said it made clear he was mocking John, exaggerated frown and wide-eyed. It didn't help John's case at all.

"Oh dammit," Harry cursed, smiling at John apologetically. "I thought…well, I'm doing renovations, you see, and I thought you guys were already sharing a room…"

"Mother!" Sherlock gasped. "I have too many important experiments in my room."

"Speaking of experiments…" Siger interjected, piquing the detective's interest.

"Oh no," Harry practically growled. "What part of 'renovations' don't you understand? You are _not_ doing experiments in my house. Do them outside or something, anywhere but _inside_."

The matter of rooms was forgotten by all but John. Mycroft distracted his mother with talk about work, or what he could talk about at least, as his younger siblings started plotting. Teddy moved to sit by John to talk to him, trying to warn him about the most he could think of. Some of it wasn't even magic related, just the chemical and explosive experiments of the Holmes brothers.

"John, you look exhausted," Harry interrupted after a while. "Sherlock, bring John up to your room so he can have a nap before dinner. Siger, I am doing renovations near your room soon, come show me how and where to store things and what can be trashed. You too, Mycroft."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3: Mr. Holmes

A/N: Greetings! Here is the next chapter, nice and snappy. Don't get used to it!

Disclaimer: Why can't I own Harry Potter or Sherlock? I'd treat them nice, I swear!

When John woke up from his nap, he took a look around Sherlock's room, since he hadn't before crashing. The bed was far bigger than he was used to, and soft. The soldier was surprised by the jersey sheets; he expected silk. Truthfully, the room reminded him of Baker Street, only done in greens. Paper and experiments were strewn all over the place, not limited to the desk nor the chaise by the large bay windows. He noticed the dark green curtains were rather thick; Sherlock must have been prone to vampirism as much when he was younger as he does now, John thought with a small smile.

Speaking of the man, he was currently lying on the bed next to him, flipping through a book. It didn't appear like he was actually reading it. John fought down a blush, though why he was blushing he didn't know. Probably just because if anyone saw them, he would no longer have credibility in his declarations of heterosexuality.

"Good, you're up. Dinner should be ready soon. We can go down if you want, or we can observe the decomposition of several experiments I forgot about when I was last here. It's your call, but we both know what is the best choice here."

"Dinner, right." John started to get up, not noticing Sherlock's deep disappointment.

"John, we need to re-evaluate your priorities. Surely you can see that—"

"Food, Sherlock. Get up, come on," John assured the taller man out of the room, much to his chagrin. He pouted the whole way downstairs, but the doctor was used to ignoring his wishes for his needs.

The red dining room was more formal than the sitting room they had been in, but you wouldn't have known from the people currently in it. Siger had some electronic equipment scattered on the mahogany table, working on it with a screwdriver. Teddy was playing some sort of card game with Mycroft, and as the newcomers observed, some purple goop exploded on Teddy's face. Sherlock sat down next to Siger, pulling out a petri dish from god knows where. John sat across from them, just observing the relaxed dynamics of the siblings.

The dynamics that got considerably tense as another man entered the room. He was older, and John had to assume it was their father. He had the same red hair as Mycroft, though it was curlier. It wasn't as wild as Sherlock's, however. His eyes were a startling blue, even in comparison with his partner. His face was pulled into a stern look, and he was in pretty decent shape despite his age, not to mention huge in height and width. John would say he had a military background, but it didn't seem quite right.

"Well, look who decided to grace us with his presence," Mr. Holmes began. "Sherlock Holmes, back from the dead. The boy who didn't have enough compassion to tell his own mother he was alive. Do you know what you put him through? He wouldn't get out of bed for weeks, and even then he was like a ghost. You destroyed him, you selfish brat."

"And where were you during all of this?" Sherlock retorted. His brothers remained silent, and even Mycroft was looking down at the table. "What forest did you hide yourself in this time? You left him all alone like usual, made him suffer alone."

"I was gone before you pulled your stunt, so don't even start."

"Ah, so you admit you left Mummy, again."

"I did not—"

"That's enough, boys," Harry was at the entryway, arms folded. "I want a nice, peaceful dinner. We have a guest, if you haven't noticed, and it's been awhile since I've had all my boys home at once. No arguments." Everyone mumbled an assent, excluding John. "Siger, clean up your mess. You too, Teddy."

Dinner passed without incident, though John could still see the tense atmosphere between Sherlock and his father. Siger seemed to be working on his gadget underneath the table, taking a bite of his food only when his mother chided him. Sherlock seemed more interested in what his brother was working on than food, but John managed to make him eat, earning covert grins from Harry. John had to hold back a snort when Mycroft reminded his mother that he should eat as well.

"Oh right," Harry was looking at his plate like he hadn't seen it before. "Thank you, dear. You always take such good care of me." This earned Mycroft quite a few glares, John noticed, sharing an amused glance with Teddy.

After dinner and dessert was over (Harry made quite the banoffee pie), Sherlock was quick to pull John out of the room. He gave his blogger a tour of the manor, showing all of his favorite haunts. He promised to show the grounds the next day, when it was sunny again. Eventually Sherlock was distracted by another abandoned experiment, and John decided to let him be.

He found the Holmes parents in the library, sharing a tender moment in front of the wall that consisted entirely of glass. They didn't even notice him come in. He was about to back out, embarrassed, but Mr. Holmes pulled away from his husband, with a pleased smile, nodding to John as he left.

"Come sit by the fire with me, John," Harry invited, moving to the giant leather armchairs and couch by said lit fireplace. His small body curled easily into the armchair nearest it, and John sat across from him. "I love this room the most, but it gets so cold."

They sat and reflected together for a while, staring into the fire. John broke the silence. "I can see why your sons are all so much taller than you, despite your size, no offense. Your husband is built like a giant."

"No offense taken," Harry smiled. "I have a lot more bite than all of them put together. I've got nothing to be self conscious about, though it did bother me when I was younger. Plus, Ruther is only so big because of his supernatural genetics."

"Supernatural?"

"Yes. Ruther is a werewolf, a born alpha at that. It's only natural selection that makes him so big."

"Werewolf?" John fought back the tremor that wanted to make itself clear in his voice. "They exist too?"

"That's right, you didn't know, sorry. I thought surely he would have told you at least that; it would be hard to explain his own behavior otherwise…"

"Sherlock is a werewolf, too?"

"Merlin, no. How can I explain this…you know about the HIV virus, correct? And you also know how it is transferred to children? It doesn't happen all of the time, and medicine has gone a long way in preventing transmission. With the werewolf 'virus', it is sort of the same. Difference is that the father can give it solely to the child during conception, not the mother. Sometimes the fetus contracts it, sometimes they only receive some side effects from it, like enhanced senses and such, and sometimes it doesn't affect the fetus at all. There is no medication to prevent it, either, so it's all chance. Teddy's father was a werewolf, and he mostly just suffers from extreme agitation during the full moon. Sherlock, however, is probably as close to a werewolf as he possibly could without actually being one, and he's alpha material like his father."

"Wow." John was wide-eyed. "I never would have guessed. You mentioned his behavior?"

"Why, yes," Harry nodded patiently. "He is extremely territorial, for one, and since he is Alpha blood he responds horribly to authority. Aggressive, too. You could imagine that he and his father butt heads all too often. Too much testosterone in a little space doesn't bode well for anybody. There are many other things, too, like—"

"Mother, I would appreciate it if you would stop talking about me behind my back." Sherlock was standing near them, his arms folded over his chest. Harry raised an eyebrow.

"I wasn't aware it was a secret."

"It isn't, not from John."

"I thought so," Harry said with a small smile, though it disappeared quickly. "And yet you haven't told him a thing. I can't help but notice that though he seems to be the most important part of your life, he is still very in the dark."

"Leave it, Mummy. You know why." Sherlock's expression grew darker, but lightened when Harry conceded.

"I'm sorry, Sherlock. I don't agree with you, but I will respect your wishes."

"Thank you."

"Well, I'm off to bed." Harry stood up, stretching. "Would you like some reading material, John? They can give you more information than I talked about, maybe clearer."

"If Sherlock doesn't mind?" John asked, looking at him cautiously. He didn't like that Sherlock was deliberately keeping him in the dark, especially since the Fall, but he would respect his wishes. Sherlock shook his head after a moment of thinking.

"It's fine. They don't talk about my condition specifically."

"It's not a condition," Harry interjected sternly, but his son ignored him.

"Can I get a book about magic, too?" John asked, and Harry nodded, waving his hand. Three books flew over to John: one was about werewolves, another specifically about the spread of the werewolf genes, and the last was a brief magical history.

In bed later that night, John watched his flatmate sleep. Just what was he hiding from him?


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four: The Weasleys

A/N: Well, it is time for another chapter, and another branch of the family to be revealed :) thanks for all the reviews, alerts, favorites, etc!

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or Sherlock. Please don't rub it in.

The next morning John woke up to the feeling of eyes on him. He turned to see Sherlock facing him, an odd expression on his face. He almost looked…nauseous?

"Are you ok?"

"Fine," Sherlock murmured. "We should head down. You slept in late today. It's okay though; I suspect we are having brunch with the Weasleys, which is why no one came to wake us."

John looked at the alarm clock next to him. "It's ten o'clock!" He hadn't slept that late since his uni days, when he would be out drinking until three in the morning.

"So it is. I told you that you slept in late."

"It's just a surprise. I must have really needed the rest. Well, let's get dressed."

Sherlock led him down to the sitting room they were in yesterday, squeezing his hand. John didn't know why the detective was so antsy, but he didn't remove his own. When they walked in, John almost had a heart attack. There was so much red.

There was a sea of people milling about inside and through the french doors outside. Most of the people had flaming red hair. Children ran about from one relative to the next before running outside and back in again. Their parents obviously didn't mind. It was all a bit overwhelming. John turned to face Sherlock, only to find he had disappeared to Siger's side, who was speaking to a –no surprise—redheaded woman about their age.

"John! Come sit by me," Harry was sitting on the same couch as yesterday, with a ginger-haired man and a woman with bushy brown hair. A pale-blond man stood behind them. John carefully squeezed in next to Harry and the woman.

"John, these are my very best friends, Ron and Hermione Weasley and Draco Malfoy-Weasley. They've been with me through the best and worst parts of my life. You guys, this is John, Sherlock's friend."

"Friend?" Hermione asked. "Will Molly finally get the great-grandchildren she wants from you?"

"I'm afraid not," Harry sighed. "They are actually friends. Rather comfortable with each other, but just friends."

"It's alright, mate," Ron said. "She's bonkers to want more kids in the family anyways."

"Yes, Artemis and the twins' twins already provide enough," Draco added.

"For the record, I'm not gay," John felt he had to clarify. Hermione and Harry giggled.

"It's ok, John. I wasn't either," Draco soothed. The others burst out laughing now. "What? I wasn't!"

"So John," Ron chose to ignore the blond's protests. "Feeling overwhelmed?"

"A little, yeah,"

"Understandable," Hermione chimed in. "I was overwhelmed when I went to Ron's house the first time, and it was only his siblings then."

"Not even all of them," Harry agreed. "Now we have all of their spouses, their children, and some of them have children."

"Mum's never been happier," Ron added.

"How many siblings do you have?"

"Five brothers and one sister. Plus Harry; he's practically adopted, and Mum certainly calls him her son."

"Wow. And these are all their spouses and children?" There were easily more than fifty people in the room.

"Yeah," Harry nodded. "The only one who didn't get married and have kids in our age group is Ginny; she wanted to focus on her career first."

"Much to Molly's chagrin," Draco smirked. "She seems to be pretty serious with her boyfriend Roger, though."

"I think she mentioned that they were thinking of getting married," Hermione said.

"So do you all have children?" John asked. "I know Harry has four."

"Ron and I have two kids together," Hermione told him, pointing to two people standing in a group of red heads. "There they are: Rose and Hugo. Their spouses couldn't make it today, but their children are running about somewhere. Rose has two boys and Hugo has a daughter."

"I'm married to Charlie, the stouter man by the bar," Draco pointed him out. Charlie was standing next to a man with a scar running across his face. "We have a daughter together, Artemis. She is over there with Sherlock and Siger now. Look, her husband has joined her, and their son." The males were blond, though they still had copper tints.

"Are...all gay wizards able to get pregnant?"

"Circes, no!" Draco admonished. "It requires a lot of magic that most wizards just don't possess. Harry here is special, plus Rutherford has mutant sperm that makes them incredible swimmers."

John blushed, but Harry patted his leg gently. "I've defeated a dark lord, I can do what I like." The others laughed. John looked around. There were still a lot of people left unnamed.

"Woah, those girls are neither pale nor red-haired. That's a surprise," John said softly. He was talking about the twin girls who looked quite tan, with curly brown hair. Their blue eyes made quite a contrast.

"Oh, those are Beatrice and Lacey, Fred and Angelina's daughters. They aren't quite girls anymore," Ron laughed. He pointed out whom he was talking about. "George is Fred's twin, and he has two pairs of twins, with Katie."

The next couple of hours passed much the same, with the group pointing out members of the family to John, or just talking gossip. The doctor noticed Mr. Holmes seemed quite relaxed with a group of men, a contrast to when he was with his sons. He wondered what made the difference.

"Ah, you spotted the Holmes conundrum," Teddy laughed. They were walking to the food table now. "All the Holmes pretty much dislike each other because they are too alike in certain regards. The main reason is that they are all over-protective of Mummy, and yet they also hurt him the most. Surely you can see the issue there."

"You don't have that problem though," John noticed, piling his plate with sweet pastries.

"I don't have the same mental intensity as them," Teddy argued. "And I know Mummy can take care of himself. He's not the most powerful wizard for nothing. I was also around long before things got rocky. I have less to be angry about."

"So things were rough?"

"Yes," Teddy went quiet, frowning as they moved to sit down outside. "I wouldn't say it was horrible. I don't think it was more than what any other family goes through. The difference is that while the Holmes family is extremely intelligent, they are not equipped to handle things well emotionally. It's a foreign language to them, and it leads to a lot of heartache. Mostly for Mummy."

"Teddy!" An extremely attractive blonde wrapped her arms around his shoulders, placing a kiss on his cheek. "Let's tell our mothers the news."

"John, this is my wife, Victoire," Teddy introduced. They smiled and murmured greetings. "Well, we better go tell mummy he's getting grandchildren after all. See you!"

John stared up at the ceiling later that night as he lay in bed, Sherlock reading next to him. He tried to digest all the names he learned, and all the magic he saw. The Weasleys used magic a lot more than he had seen being used the previous day. He rolled to face his friend.

"Why don't you use it?" He asked. "Magic, I mean. I would use it for everything if I had it."

"I don't have any," Sherlock answered. "Neither does Mycroft, nor Siger. Mummy says it's fate just trying to be funny, giving all the power to him and not to his children."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. I will admit it was hard to swallow when I was younger, and made me feel inadequate, but I also have a lot that wizards don't have. I do a lot more good than those wizards, too."

"Yeah, you do," John smiled.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five: Last Day

A/N: This is it, amigos! Last chapter. It'll probably leave you with more questions, it certainly did for me. That just means there will be more stories. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or Sherlock, so just stop it!

The rest of the week passed rather slowly in comparison to the first two days. Sherlock often ran off with one brother or another, leaving John with Mummy, reading, or strolling on the grounds. He didn't know what to make of Mr. Holmes; the man was always tense with his sons, but friendly enough with John when their paths crossed, and apparently still very amorous with his husband. John lost count of how many times he came across them snogging.

"I get why you don't like your dad, sort of," John said to Sherlock a few nights into their stay at the manor. "Obviously there is a lot between you two that I'm not privy to. I just don't see why you come home more often. I can tell how much you adore Mummy, and you seem able to relax here. I assumed your family life was strained, but…I don't know."

Sherlock was silent for a long while before sighing. "I hate my father. He's the cause of so much pain for me. It's because of him that my biology is the way it is. I feel like the reason I have so much trouble with other people is because of him and his genes.

"When I was younger, I was angry all the time, and lost. I didn't know what I was supposed to do, or why I was so different from everybody. I didn't have anyone except for Mummy, and that made me even angrier. I took it out on him, and he never deserved it. Then I was guilty, and I didn't know how to handle it, which made things spin out of control. I stared using drugs to try and escape. Mummy was so upset, so disappointed… so I stopped going home. I didn't want him to see me at my lowest, which I knew I was. I didn't want to hurt him anymore. I felt it best not to go back. Once I cleaned up, I came back, but I never stay long. I just feel…it's all too easy for me to screw things up, to hurt him again. It's better if I stay away."

By this point, Sherlock had gravitated closer and closer to John, until his head rest on his chest. John petted his hair soothingly. "Thanks for sharing with me," John whispered. "I hope you know that I'm always here for you, and that I want to be. You don't have to do things by yourself."

Sherlock hummed, burrowing his head deeper.

"And you're an idiot."

Sherlock glared now, affronted.

"Well, you are. Mummy loves you, despite everything in the past. You hurt him just as much by refusing to visit him." Sherlock didn't say anything, and John soon fell asleep.

Their last day at the manor was a roller coaster. It started out with the odd sight of Siger and Teddy running from the dining room as the Baker Street boys made their way to breakfast. Mycroft didn't run, but he certainly wasn't sedate as he made an escape as well. This really should have stopped John from entering the room, but as Sherlock didn't stop him (he was too busy running away himself) he just continued.

Inside was a whirlwind, quite literally. The air in the room was spinning with gale force, and if there were windows in the room, they would have smashed. Objects flew around overhead, and in the center stood Harry, yelling obscenities at Mr. Holmes. The man himself refused to cower, and was yelling right back, despite his body being battered.

As he watched though, Mr. Holmes said something that caused Mummy to desist, and the storm gradually died down. Lights that John hadn't realized were flickering became steady once again as the werewolf wrapped his arms around his husband, murmuring soothingly. Harry gave a last desperate attempt of a glare.

"Come in, John," Mr. Holmes said after a while. "I'll have Wigby bring out fresh food." Harry smiled sheepishly at him.

"Sorry," he mumbled to him later after breakfast. "I didn't defeat the dark lord by smiling at him, after all." Harry gave a little giggle to himself after that, mumbling something about Hermione as he walked away. John just accepted it as the normal odd behavior of the family.

Things seemed to be calm after that, until Siger returned his recharged phone to him. "Hope you don't mind," he said with a smile that showed he wouldn't care either way. "Noticed it laying out on a table with a dead battery and thought I would try a new experiment with energy sources. The first round didn't kill it, and it may have short circuited in the second, but I fixed it and the third round worked like planned. You have a few messages, by the way."

A few messages turned out to be fifty text messages, ten missed calls, and five voicemails, all from Mary. John immediately felt guilty; in all the excitement, he forgot all about her. Sherlock noticed right away of course, and he didn't hide his glee.

"Oh, this is perfect," he practically sang, despite John telling him to shut up. "You are always going on and on about her, about how much you care about her, about how wonderful she is, but I give you one small adventure, if you can call it that, and you forget all about her. Absolutely marvelous!"

"With so much going on, I didn't have time to think about her!"

"You keep telling yourself that, John," Sherlock never stopped grinning. "But things have been peaceful around here, even by your standards. Isn't it funny? Even when things are dull you're more interested in me than her."

John just stormed away, not able to respond.

The previous night was a bit tense in Sherlock's bedroom; he was altogether too happy about John's guilt. John kept himself to his edge of the bed, brushing the detective off whenever he tried to get close.

When the doctor woke, it was to the sound of murmuring voices. Mycroft was apparently making a visit.

"You really should stay a bit longer," Mycroft said sternly. "You have nothing pressing back in London; a few more days at least won't hurt anything."

"In case you have forgotten, crime stops for nobody," Sherlock snarked. "You are not the only one with a job."

"Your work for the Scotland Yard is hardly a real job and you know it. Mummy is gardening, Sherlock. _Gardening_."

"You stay then," Sherlock quipped.

"I have pressing matters to attend to."

"Like always." Mycroft glared, before standing up to leave. He called a good morning to John as he left.

"Whassa matter?" John grumbled.

"Mycroft is worried about Mummy, though once again he refuses to take care of the matter himself. Even that is too much legwork for him. Our father apparently is being called into a werewolf meeting, and it will take probably two weeks. Mummy and he were arguing over it because father is going to Bermuda in two weeks, and he'll be gone most of the year."

"So Mummy is going to be left alone," John said, frowning.

"We can't stay, John," Sherlock said. "Even if I don't have to continue the work, you have your own job to consider. I know Mycroft managed to clear you for the week, but even he can't help you farther than that. Plus there's Mary, if you've forgotten." He said the last bit smugly.

"I haven't forgotten," John glared. "Let's get ready then, yeah?"

They dressed themselves in silence, and packed up the strewn belongings. Sherlock looked at his flatmate curiously.

"He won't be entirely alone, you know. I imagine Siger will be staying longer; he basks more than the rest of us in Mummy's attention. Teddy is always here, and the Weasleys visit often as well."

"I know." Sherlock smiled at him. "What?"

"I simply find it intriguing that at the beginning of this holiday you were so stressed, and now you call my mother your own."

"Can you blame me?" John blushed. "He's just so…yeah. More caring then my own mother, too."

"Didn't say it was bad, just intriguing."

Harry's eyes seemed a bit bright as he hugged his sons goodbye, Siger standing just behind him. John was no exception to the affection and was pulled down for a hug as well.

John squeezed the shorter man close to whisper in his ear, "You can come visit us on Baker Street anytime, you know. I certainly don't mind, and everyone knows Sherlock would secretly adore it."

Harry smiled up at him and kissed his cheek. "You're a sweetheart, John. Don't be a stranger, either. Take care of my boy. Merlin knows he needs it the most."

"And yet he is the most stubborn in refusing it." They shared a laugh before pulling apart.

Sherringford Manor was pretty huge for one man, John thought as they pulled away. Something had to be done.


End file.
